


Hands Down

by magickalmolly



Category: High School Musical (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 09:18:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9228512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magickalmolly/pseuds/magickalmolly
Summary: Chad's not watching Ryan dance, only, well, he sort of is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written October 08, 2007.

Chad doesn't know how he managed to get dragged to this party, but he's been here for what feels like ages, and he's not sure how much more he can take. He's not part of the cast, after all. Only the unwilling best friend who got dumped near the food table as soon as his (supposed) best friend's girlfriend fluttered her eyes and motioned towards the dance floor. He doesn't really know anyone else here, and very quickly decides he doesn't really want to. They're the theater crowd, after all, and Chad isn't interested in making new friends. 

The only thing left for Chad to do is drink punch and lean sullenly against the wall while he tries not to be noticed. Which is easy, as the room is crowded, and dark, the music loud. Everyone is too busy congratulating one another on a fabulous show to pay attention to one out of place jock. But Chad supposes he's glad for it, because it leaves him to do what (he realizes with a start) he's been doing for the last half hour. 

What exactly it is that Chad is doing is watching. Watching a certain blond move in the middle of the sea of bodies all pressed around him, twisting and rocking to the beat. And even though the boy's dressed in nothing more flamboyant than dark jeans and a black t-shirt, Ryan Evans can't help but to stand out. His dancing isn't the energetic flailing of too much spiked punch. Compared to the kids around him... well, there _is_ no comparison. Ryan moves with purpose. Every turn of his torso or sway of his hips is done with intention. 

That intention is all too clear to Chad. It is obviously meant to thoroughly distract him, and Chad stands in his shadowy corner, warm cup of punch forgotten in his hand as his eyes watch and catalog and track every one of Ryan's moves.

Knees bent, and hips thrust forward proudly, Chad's surprised to see Ryan dances with the strength born from his gender. Any other time, Chad would be tempted to call the boy effeminate (and certainly has on more than one occasion). But there, slim yet powerful body shamelessly daring the throng of students around him to try and keep up, Ryan is unquestioningly male. It is a disconcerting realization to Chad. What is even more disconcerting is how fascinated Chad is.

Someone flips a light on, one of those spinning ball things that scatters colored dots across the dancers, and Chad feels like he's tipping. Everything twirls around him, throwing his senses off-balance. It's only the heat of the crowd and the thump of the bass pressing against his eardrums, Chad tells himself. It has nothing to do with Ryan's smile, which flashes hot and bright as his body gyrates. 

Of course not.

But after only a moment, Chad finds he has to lean with a hand braced to the wall to keep from falling.

The music changes then, something with a faster tempo, a driving beat. As one the crowd cheers their approval. The energy in the room rises with the rhythm, and the sensation is almost a physical one. Chad certainly feels it fall over him, pressing down, submerging his senses. Ryan's voice can be heard above the rest; he throws his head back and _howls_ , high and savage. Tiny sparks run down Chad's spine at the sound, causing him to jerk in surprise. His drink drops from his hand and to the floor, but doesn't notice.

Ryan turns as he continues to dance, and the line of his back, which elongates when he raises his arms in the air, draws Chad's attention in. Tightly focused, in and down from Ryan's outstretched fingers to his flushed face, turned towards the ceiling. Down to his eyes, closed in pleasure, and down to his mouth, open and grinning. Even in the spinning darkness, Chad can all too clearly see the thrum of Ryan's pulse as it pushes against his pale, exposed throat. Chad experiences a hitch in his chest at the sight, and a fishhook pull below his navel. It's as if he is watching something private. Something not to be seen by mere mortals.

Ryan's not just dancing, he's transcending. 

Chad doesn't know where the thought comes from, and finds he doesn't care. He's absorbed, and everything else around him fades away. His whole being is pinpointed on a single light in the form of a shimmering, sweating, gyrating and laughing boy. Chad is pulled into the crowd, feet moving forward on their own accord. 

The bodies around him seem to part instinctually, as if they know his path and clear it for him. Which is good, as Chad can't seem to look away from Ryan's body. He doesn't stop, not until he's pressed up tight behind it. His large hands grip onto those lithe hips, and his face rubs into short damp hair, each action as unconscious as they are necessary. It's not want at this point, but need. Chad needs more than to just watch. He needs to feel the rhythm and the sweat right from its source. 

He needs it like his own breath, and Chad doesn't question, only closes his eyes and inhales. 

Chad knows Ryan's smiling even without having to see it, and the boy leans back, one arm curling up around Chad's neck as if he knows who's there. Which is ridiculous, as Chad and Ryan have never before done anything like this – Chad's fairly certain that Ryan doesn't even like him – but Ryan's movements are encouraging, and more than that, they are inviting. 

Chad lets himself be pulled into Ryan's rhythm, their bodies pressed front to back from shoulder to thigh. Ryan arches and rubs, a pleased noise rumbles through him when Chad's grip tightens. His physical grip tightens – Chad hopes (faintly, desperately) that Ryan is unaware of how tenuous his mental grip is on this situation. He's only (already) hanging by fingertips and prayers.

Chad can sense more than hear Ryan's laughter as his head falls back onto Chad's shoulder. The world stills, sound and movement dropping away as all rotations drag to a stop. Chad can feel damp breath and smell the tang of alcohol when Ryan murmurs his name. Slowly, but with building momentum, the world begins to spin in the opposite direction, gaining speed as it turns. Chad licks his lips. 

One breath separates the two boy's mouths, and then even that is gone because they're kissing. It's nothing like Chad has ever experienced. Their kiss is wet hunger and pulling need; Ryan's mouth locks on with the ferocity of a starving man. Or maybe Chad is the one who's starving, though how he wasn't aware of it before right this very moment, he doesn't understand. But he can't think, he can't concentrate on anything more than Ryan's lips and the soft sound of Ryan's inhalation. 

Chad's every thought is the slippery slide of Ryan's tongue over and around his own. 

Ryan's fingers tangle in Chad's hair, pulling closer. Chad's hands divide and explore; one up under Ryan's shirt, the other below his belt. Their moans meld and harmonize and are lost in the silence around them. But Chad can hear it, riding the rushing blood in his veins. It fills him, and makes him light.

The kiss lasts for a minute. The kiss lasts for an hour. Chad's sure it's one of the two, but he honestly doesn't know which. What he is aware of is the pull of his senses and the sudden swell of party noise when Ryan's mouth is gone. Everything is dark and blaring around the flash of Ryan's eyes, smudged with eyeliner and bright with knowledge.

When Ryan's lips curl into a hungry smile, Chad can see wetness glistening there. He tries to speak, but Ryan is moving, twisting to the rhythm and slipping into the crowd. Disappearing into the darkness.

Chad inhales, and follows, instinct taking him where his senses would have him crashing to a halt. 

~fin~


End file.
